The Night the Devil Cried
by DR. COFFIN
Summary: Follow up to Little Boy Lost. As little Warren Peace lays dying, villains gather to do something no one thought possible. If good will go to great lengths to save a life, how far will evil go? Rated T for rough language and imagery.
1. Chapter 1

**Note:**

In this storyline a lot of lines from songs are woven throughout. I don't claim ownership of any of them and they are all the property of their respective writers/creators.

The villain "Rockabilly" is actually based upon a persona briefly used by then WWF/WWE wrestler Billy Gunn (now Kip James in TNA). I just liked the character so much and thought he would fit into the Sky High universe as a "second string" villain. His "sonic pulse guitar" and ability to sing beautifully are my personal touches.

The Night the Devil Cried Chapter 1 

The winds moaned and the skies wept outside the walls of Mandragore Castle. The torture of the elements perfectly matched what was going on in the hearts and souls of those now within the stone and steel structure.

The main hall had been prepared for a feast; a victory banquet celebrating the triumph of former enemies the Commander and Jetstream as they became the new parents of little Warren Peace.

Instead it was a wake.

At the head of the table in a high backed chair sat Dr. Barnabas Mandragore, master of the castle and organizer of the attempt by a group of super villains to lend their support to rescuing the boy from an uncertain future, staring off into space. He had foreseen every possible eventuality and prepared for it. How could he have overlooked what did happen?

How could anyone have possibly known the boy would go berserk and attack the man who wished to take him into his home, even bursting into flames and trying to burn him? Warren had then collapsed and went into a coma, nearly dying if not for the quick action of Dr. Mandragore, who had enough experience with super human physiology to stabilize the boy and oversee his medical treatment. Warren was now in a hospital under full monitoring and observation with Dr. Mandragore to be alerted the instant anything happened.

Off to one side sat Rockabilly in another high backed chair. The instant they had returned to the castle he had torn off his bolo tie like it was strangling him and ripped his shirt open to reveal his brawny chest as he finally took a deep breath. Now he idly strummed his sonic pulse guitar without invoking its devastating power, for he was still a musician at heart, and needed an outlet.

In a corner sat a trembling hulk of muscle and scales known as Tyrannosaur. Once a fierce monster whose very name would cause panic in the streets, the events of the past few hours had reduced him to a shell of a being. His deep, rattling breathing was the only sound he made, with an occasional sniffle as another thick tear traveled down his coarse, leathery cheek.

Around the room were scattered others; the Harpy, a winged woman who had removed her metal talons in favor of a business dress for the hearing, was perched in one of the high windows with her back to the glass. Blowhard, who had dressed in his clan tartan and kilt instead of the sea captain costume he usually wore, sat two chairs down from Dr. Mandragore and proceeded to finish off the second bottle of wine he had single-handedly drained after they had returned. Across from him sat Black Ice, a statuesque black woman with her frosted hair in cornrows and dressed in a conservative blue dress. She idly picked at a few morsels of food on her plate, but she hadn't eaten anything at all.

Anubis, who claimed to be the incarnate form of the Egyptian god of the dead, had returned to his pyramid fortress without a word. Dr. Skull, however, said he was going back and talk with his old enemy, the Commander's father Major Victory. He had said seeing his old foe after so many years and under those circumstances had made him start thinking about things in a new light. Dr. Mandragore's wife Lucretia had gone to take Stitches back to his home after he had talked with his enemy Josie Stronghold, aka Jetstream. The little man once known as the royal jester of the underworld certainly didn't seem happy anymore.

Down in one of the workout rooms were the final two members of the assemblage. Mr. Richter, a powerfully built man with close cut black hair and beard, was using his strength and seismic punch to pound boulders to pieces. So far he had reduced several chunks of granite to fine powder, and though he had sweated through his dark green bodysuit and was breathing heavily, he was still consumed with the need to smash and destroy. The same was true of the Demolisher, a massive brute in black leather pants with studded boots and gloves. His own long black hair was plastered down his neck and back with sweat, but he also needed to vent.

Rockabilly strummed his guitar and sang a few words:

"No one knows what it's like

To be the bad man

To be the sad man…"

"Boss," he then said, "are we evah gonna win?"

"This was NEVER about us, Billy," replied Dr. Mandragore.

"No, ah know," said Rockabilly, sounding almost like the young Elvis he had emulated his entire criminal career, "ah mean…what if we…ah don't know…jinxed it somehow?"

"What do ye mean?" asked Blowhard, his being half-drunk and slurring his speech combined with his Scottish accent to make him nearly unable to be understood.

"What if," continued Rockabilly, "this is from all the bad stuff we've done ovah the years? Maybe it's all our chickens comin' home to roost. Maybe God's punishin' us."

"Billy," said Black Ice, "that's makes no sense. Why would God do that to a little boy?"

"Because he knows it would hurt us."

"How do you know?"

"Because it HAS!" Rockabilly stood up suddenly, throwing his chair backwards. The sound of it crashing to the floor echoed throughout the great hall.

There it was. It was finally out in the open.

All of these villains, criminals, malcontents, would-be tyrants and monsters had indeed been affected by this in ways no number of regular defeats at the hands of the world's heroes ever would have.

They had been hurt. To the depths of whatever black souls they may have possessed, it hurt worse than any fires of Hell.

Defeat and humiliation was one thing, but this…this was the true face of pain and sadness, loneliness and hostility that they only thought they knew.

Black Ice was the first to break down. Tears flowed only to freeze on her cheeks in streaks of crystal sadness. Blowhard lowered his head to the table and started outright bawling. His sentimental Scottish nature had finally overtaken him.

Rockabilly again strummed his guitar

"Wise men say only fools rush in

But I can't help falling in love with you…"

Another truth exposed.

"I…canna do it anymore," sobbed Blowhard, the slur totally gone from his speech as he raised his head to face the others. "All I ever wanted was ta get rich…but now when I close muh eyes all I see is that wee boy…and all the others I may have hurt over the years. I just…I just canna do it anymore."

High in the window the Harpy pulled her black wings close about her and remained quiet as tears also trickled down her raptor-like face. She and Jetstream had been enemies for years, but the look in Josie Stronghold's eyes when Warren had collapsed was a pain she had never wanted to see. She did not hate Josie anymore. She pitied her.

"Doc?"

They all turned and looked. It was Tyrannosaur. He had been silent the entire time.

"Doc, can you fix him?"

Dr. Mandragore rose from his chair to stand before the quivering beast, a sad smile on his face.

"I don't know," he said honestly, "certainly his condition is stable. It will take time before we know anything else."

"Please fix him."

"I…I…"

"Please Doc. Fix him. Then…then we can take him to the Commander to play with his little boy…and when Christmas comes we can get them each a puppy…and you can dress up like Santa…and…and…

"Please."

"I…I…can't…"

"Please…"

"I CAN'T!" Dr. Mandragore screamed at the top of his lungs into the monster's face.

"DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND, YOU ABOMINATION, I CAN'T!" He held his hands in front of him.

"I COULDN'T HELP HIS FATHER! I CAN'T DO ANYTHING FOR HIS MOTHER!

I CAN'T "FIX" HIM! I…I…"

Dr. Mandragore looked at his hands as he held them up for all to see.

"I…can't."

The tears began to flow, as Dr. Mandragore now understood the totality of his powerlessness. For all his genius, all his understanding of mechanical wonders and weapons of destruction, for all his knowledge of medicine and genetic manipulation, he could do nothing for one little boy or his family.

A pair of hands literally materialized from the shadows, and his wife Lucretia fully appeared to hold him in her arms. She herself was a powerful witch, but what had happened was something all her magic was useless against. There were simply some things that could neither science nor magic could do.

"I know, my love," said Lucretia, whose own eyes were red from crying.

"All I have been able to think about are our own little ones upstairs. What would happen to Marduke, Balthazar and little Victoria if something happened to us? I know we have been semi-retired since we learned Baron and Angelica were married, but I want to make it full and complete.

"Of course," said Dr. Mandragore as he composed himself, "but first I must see this through with Warren to the end."

He kissed his wife on the cheek, and turned to the others.

"My friends," he held his arms open to them, "stay as long as you wish. My home is now yours. I doubt any of you would leave without knowing about Warren anyway, and for that I commend you."

A roguish smile flashed across his face, "I wonder how the world would look upon this sorry lot now, eh? Reduced to blubbering idiots by a child's plight.

"I, for one, am proud."

As Dr. Mandragore proceeded out of the hall and up a flight of stairs to his study, Lucretia turned to Rockabilly, who had righted his chair and was sitting and strumming away again.

"Do you do requests, Billy?"

"Ah am at your disposal, Mrs. M.," smiled Billy.

"I believe you were reciting a few lines from one of my favorite songs written by the King…"

Billy smiled, cleared his throat, and quietly began the full song.

Unseen and unknown by anyone, a small figure in silk pajamas and a dark red robe sat in the shadows of the set of stairs Dr. Mandragore had just used.

His name was Marduke Mandragore, the firstborn son of Barnabas and Lucretia. He was only a few months older than Warren, yet he had been studying everything about him since he learned of his existence. After all, they were destined to continue on their fathers' works, so that had meant they were supposed to be future enemies.

But that had all changed in the past few months. Baron Battle was now in prison, judged a criminal, so where did that put Warren in the scheme of things? Sure, his mother was still a heroine, the arch foe of his own mother, so they still had that to fall back on, but that didn't seem to work as well.

Would Warren be a villain too? Would they be friends? Marduke found he liked that idea. The other villain kids he associated with were okay, if somewhat like weasels, but Warren had a princely quality to him that Marduke liked.

But now his new friend to be was in the hospital, badly sick. He didn't understand the full scope of it, but it had to be bad to make his parents and all their friends cry like it did. He had even found himself tearing up at times as he overheard bits and pieces of the conversation. He had been encouraged by both his parents to revel in his emotions as they made great fuel for the fires that burn within, and right now the only fires he had were ones of sadness for another child he had never even spoken to.

"Please Dad," Marduke whispered, echoing the words of Tyrannosaur, "please fix him."

To be continued


	2. Chapter 2

**The Night The Devil Cried**

_**Chapter 2: Best of Enemies**_

Barnabas Mandragore sat in his private study, alone for the first time since he had arrived home. With Lucretia downstairs he did not need to worry about any of the others doing something foolish.

In the large, dark room he and looked at the life sized three-dimensional picture of Baron Battle that he had created so long ago when both had just begun their careers. They had seemed to naturally gravitate towards each other as certain heroes and villains did.

He looked at the powerfully built, dark featured man standing tall and proud in his original silver and blue armor, holding his helmet in the crook of his arm. His dark hair hung to his shoulders, and his handsome, smiling face was filled with confidence and bravery…a true knight for the modern age.

That was not how he looked anymore. Now the man sat in a small, confining adamantine lined cell, his majestic body a beaten hulk. He had been shorn of his Samson like locks, and his eyes did not shine anymore. His handsome face was marred by a brutal scar on the left side of his face that traveled from his eye down to the jaw line; the brutal result of the Commander's last desperate blow, his vaunted "seismic punch", to end his former friend's madness. Baron's now black and red armor was in the Commander's custody.

Dr. Mandragore had not changed the picture of Baron. This was how he wanted to remember and think about him.

A snifter of brandy sat on the small table next to Dr. Mandragore's chair, but it was untouched. He wanted desperately to get drunk and try to wash away the memories of the past few days, but he did not dare. The life of his enemy's little boy was in the balance, and that was more important than anything else right now.

He smiled at the memories. He remembered the first time he and Baron had…battled.

It was his first outing, and he was piloting a giant robot he had constructed to rob several banks. He hadn't really needed the money even back then, but that was how one usually made their debut to the public. He had just started to break into the bank when Baron appeared and, after the usual back and forth banter that goes on between hero and villain, they fought.

It did not take very long. The robot may as well have been made out of cardboard the way Baron had torn through it after proving he could not be harmed by its arsenal of weaponry; tear gar, flame throwers, miniature missles, the usual stuff. He then tore open the cockpit and pulled out the snarling "Dr. Shocker" as Dr. Mandragore had called himself in the old days. The usual ending back and forth banter took place as Dr. Mandragore had been hauled away by the authorities and the hero Baron Battle received his accolades.

It went on like that for only a few years. The back and forths, the crazy schemes, the jailbreaks, the fights…it had been glorious.

At first Dr. Mandragore had thought Baron was the typical muscle-bound thick-head because of his strength, but he found that he was also a brilliant scientist as well when he figured out one of the doctor's elaborate death traps.

That had changed things. It made them even better.

What had started as a classic tale of good brawn vs. evil brain became a chess game between two great intellects that Dr. Mandragore had loved.

That was how he met Lucretia. It had started as a normal "super villain team-up" as he sought to combine his science with her magic to defeat their respective enemies Baron Battle and Angelica Peace. During the fight, as the heroes were defeating a group of cybernetically enhanced demons, the villains learn two things; Baron and Angelica were actually husband and wife, and the two villains had fallen in love with each other. When it was over Lucretia used her magic to help them escape, but it was really the last time they would fight anyone.

Dr. Mandragore stared at the picture. He would give anything and everything to have those days back. He would fall to his knees and thank God if the real Baron smashed through the wall to take him to prison for the seemingly thousandth time right now.

He never really hated Baron. There had been the usual tirades and rantings against him, the name-calling and threats, but deep in his heart he held no grudge, no real anger. The villains who actually did come to hate their heroic counterparts did not really last long in the business. They quickly became hollow mockeries of what they were, caricatures and stereotypes that went through the motions but achieved nothing from their encounters.

No, the villain that actually learned something about and from his hero was all the better for it. Hatred was counter-productive. While some claimed they thrived on it, in actuality they were eaten alive by it.

A strange buzzing disturbed his reminiscing. It was the alarm from the hospital.

"Speak," said Dr. Mandragore as the message was instantly relayed.

"Dr. Mandragore?"

"Yes man," snapped Dr. Mandragore, "quickly…what is it?"

"It's Warren, sir, his condition may be deteriorating."

"I shall be there in an instant," said Dr. Mandragore as he activated the teleportation device in his chair. It had originally been intended as a means for escape but now it was used as a means of rescue.

"I never hated you Baron," said Dr. Mandragore as he faded from his study still watching the picture, "and now I shall prove it."

Dr. Mandragore stood in the chilled, antiseptic room, breathing via his personal oxygen supply.

The room had been specially prepared, with nearly all the air kept pumped out in case Warren should ignite again. The near lack of oxygen would quickly smother out any flame before it became a danger.

The only sounds were of the numerous beeps and hums of the machines monitoring Warren's every vital sign. Heart rate, pulse, and blood pressure were closely scrutinized. The EKG machine droned on registering the barest of activity. The rhythm of the oxygen machine pumping vital air into the little boy's lungs was almost hypnotic, as was the drip of the intravenous tube feeding him vital nutrients.

Dr. Mandragore approached then stood beside the boy. He reached out and felt Warren's forehead, then ran his fingers through the sweat-soaked dark hair. Was it a trick of the light, or were there now streaks of red in the boy's black hair…possibly a result of the massive system shock he had undergone?

That did not matter. What did matter was saving him.

Dr. Mandragore had arrived mere moments after he had gotten the message, and it was not good news. Warren's body was in the grip of a massive fever as if his young body was trying to burn itself up. The room had been cooled down to the point that any exhaled breath would be a cloud of fog, but it barely did anything to slow down the deterioration.

There were no signs of infection, any viruses or bacteria causing it.

Warren was dying.

Dr. Mandragore swore silently to himself.

Why was this happening? This little boy should be out in the warm afternoon sunshine, playing with the likes of little Will Stronghold and his friend Zach or even his own sons Marduke and Balthazar.

No, this was not the time for pondering. This was the time for action.

But first, there had to be something else done. Something Dr. Mandragore had pondered on in the small hours when his castle had been silent, leaving him alone with his dark thoughts.

Dr. Mandragore pulled out two small, stoppered tubes he had brought with him. He had not feared being searched by the guards outside the room, as he was recognized as the boy's court appointed physician, allowed total access to him at any time.

The first tube was connected to the needle in Warren's arm that allowed blood to be drawn. In an instant it was full, and Dr. Mandragore expertly removed and sealed it, wiping away any trace of it having been used. He then gently plucked a few strands of hair from Warren's head. This part made him nervous, as he subconsciously feared waking the boy, but he chided himself for such foolishness. Or perhaps it was hope that Warren would react to the momentary pain…twitch an eye, flinch, make a sound.

But nothing happened.

Dr. Mandragore put the hairs in the second tube and sealed it. He paused and looked again at this little boy who had brought nearly the entire super world, both good and evil, to its collective knees.

"Who are you, little one," he asked as he again stroked the limp dark hair, "that you have stolen all our hearts this way? And what shall we do if you break them by dying?"

A strange chill ran up Dr. Mandragore's spine, something not a natural result of the room's environment. He slowly turned and there, in the corner, was what seemed to be a tall, black shadow that was not caused by the dim lighting in the room.

Dr. Mandragore held his breath. He knew what he was looking upon…who he was looking at.

"You shall not have him," he snarled at the shadow that towered over him, "I swear to God you won't."

The shadow seemed to withdraw back into the corner, but it did not leave.

Time was now the most precious commodity in existence, but Dr. Mandragore knew he did not have enough. Not on his own. As much as it galled his ego to admit it, he needed help.

And he knew exactly where to get it.

To be continued.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Night the Devil Cried**

_**Chapter 3: Ruthless Savior**_

Pleased to meet you, hope you've guessed my name

But what's puzzling you is the nature of my game

Sympathy for the Devil

The Rolling Stones

Dr. Barnabas Mandragore sat in the quiet, bare walled chamber that served as the visitation room in Cold Storage. Though there were many people in the world who would have loved to see him inside the walls of the arctic super-prison on a long-term basis, at this time it was in the capacity of a visitor.

The moment he arrived he had been under constant armed guard, his every move watched by guards with their weapons leveled at him and monitored by security that had wall-mounted energy weapons trained on him. He did not even blink at the large number of small red dots that danced across him, indicating the laser sights of all the weapons aimed at him.

He did not care. They all meant nothing to him. He was here for one purpose, and one alone. He had come to this frozen hell to get what was needed to save the life of a little boy who lay dying in a hospital thousands of miles away. Nothing else mattered.

Nothing.

He had been strip searched and x-rayed to ensure he did not carry anything on him that was a possible weapon. His skull-handled walking stick had proven to be just that, nothing but oak and silver, so he had been allowed to keep it as he apparently did need it to walk.

It wasn't that anyone was afraid that Dr. Mandragore would break anyone out, but considering the history between him and the one he was here to visit, it was still very likely his intentions were hardly benevolent.

The door on the other side of the room opened, and the guards entered. With them was the tall, powerfully built object of Dr. Mandragore's quest.

Baron Battle.

Dr. Mandragore had known the full extent of what had happened to his former enemy, but it still did not prepare him for the personal encounter. He remembered the smiling, handsome young giant with the eyes that, though dark as shadow, sparkled like gems, the lion's mane of black hair that always seemed to be blown by a secret wind.

Gone. Though as big as ever, Baron's entire demeanor had changed. His eyes were those of a mad animal, shifting back and forth constantly. His head had been shorn so that only black stubble remained. The vicious, blood red scar looked as fresh as when it had first been opened up by the Commander when he struck the blow that ended his former friend's mad rampage.

Baron took the seat across from Dr. Mandragore; the adamantine chains adorning him were shackled to the concrete chair and floor. In this room a power neutralizer kept Baron from accessing his powers, but he was still very big and strong, and no one was taking any chances. Once he was secured the guards left them alone.

Silence reigned for minutes. Both men looked at each other.

Here was the ultimate irony. The mighty hero was now a hated criminal in prison, while the villain was free and on a mission of mercy.

"He sent you, didn't he?" Baron finally spoke. Even his voice seemed different somehow. The rich baritone now seemed hollow, as if he were speaking from a great distance.

"I have come on my own, Baron," said Dr. Mandragore, "the Commander had nothing to do with this.'

Baron sneered. The look was totally alien to Dr. Mandragore.

"Don't lie to me. I should have known he would try to use you against me. You always hated me, Barnabas. You both did."

"I never hated you, Baron," said Dr. Mandragore, repeating the words he had spoken to the heroic image of Baron he maintained in his home. "And neither does Steven."

"Oh, its Steven now, is it?" spat Baron. "I can just see the two of you together…laughing at me. But you won't laugh forever…I'll get out. Somehow."

"Enough," hissed Dr. Mandragore, "I am not here to listen to your paranoid ranting. I am here for Warren."

"Don't you dare…" growled Baron, his every huge muscle tensing, "don't you touch my son, you bastard."

"NOW you care about him," snarled Dr. Mandragore, leaning forward even as Baron was, their eyes locking. "NOW you worry about him…where the hell was that worry a couple of months ago Baron? Where was your paternal concern when you and the rest of the vermin in the Brotherhood did what you did?"

"How DARE you judge me," Baron said, "you of all people? After all you have done you think you can walk in here and look down your nose at me?

"This is NOT about me, Baron, or even you for that matter."

Dr. Mandragore, sat back, took a deep breath and composed himself.

"Warren is dying, Baron. He is slowly burning alive…it is caused by the same energy that increased your powers after the accident years ago. I need to analyze it…study it. I am positive that he can be cured."

Baron laughed, a sound that sent a sheet of ice through Dr. Mandragore. The laughter was sick, almost like he was vomiting.

"How STUPID do you think I am?" Baron snarled, "You want to take my power away, make me weak so you can do whatever you want to me…my family."

"Your family," said Dr. Mandragore, "is in tatters, you fool. Angelica is under sedation after having a nervous breakdown…she was suicidal over what you did.

"Warren's power has manifested itself, Baron. The stress of the entire ordeal has caused him to actually burst into flames…but now his body cannot handle it. He has the strength of both you and Angelica, and that is the only thing that has kept him from being reduced to ashes. But that cannot last forever. Time is running out Baron. Please, for the life of your son you claim to love…help me."

"No."

Dr. Mandragore was shocked…horrified by what he heard. The man's own son was at death's door and he was REFUSING to help?

Anger was swiftly turning to hatred, but Dr. Mandragore, above all things, was a man who could see many angles of a subject, and knew what was going on.

Baron had not said it.

It was the tumor.

The inoperable tumor that had clouded Baron's mind and driven him slowly mad…made him turn on his friends and align himself with the members of the Brotherhood. It was now making him see everyone as an enemy out to get him…enemies that would do or say anything to hurt him.

Baron did not believe Warren was sick.

"I understand," said Dr. Mandragore, standing as if he was going to leave, "you do not believe me Baron, but I understand.

"Now you will understand this…"

The walking stick Dr. Mandragore was carrying suddenly flashed a brilliant green light that bathed the room. Baron looked around, alarm growing on his face. The sight sickened Dr. Mandragore.

"We are now in, for all intents and purposes old friend, a time warp. Every minute here is a millisecond outside of this room. What we have to…accomplish here will not take but a moment, but it will seem as if nothing happened to those watching us on their monitors. But you and I…" he approached the now struggling Baron, raising the stick, "will know otherwise."

"What…" Baron stammered, all his paranoid delusions now coming to life before his eyes, "what are you going to do?"

"I need to study the energy coursing through you Baron," whispered Dr. Mandragore, "you will not give me the specifics of its wavelength, its frequency, any of it. But I know a way to get it…all that I need as a matter of fact."

Baron was now struggling violently with his chains, but it was useless. The time warp only affected time, not the power-neutralizing field.

"How…how are you doing this?"

"Simple," Dr. Mandragore smiled, "I am a scientist…a man of logic and reason…a man who can be scanned for any possible device or weapon known to man…or superman.

"I am, however, married to a witch. One who is capable of creating many wondrous items that science cannot fathom or duplicate…like this walking stick. She wove many spells into it before presenting it to me as a wedding gift…it was her means of making sure I am safe. She told me that for all my vaunted science…all it would take would be a faulty circuit or a loose wire and I would be helpless to an uncertain fate.

"But now," he said, his whispering voice growing more intense as he stalked his helpless opponent, "I shall use this to save an innocent soul from a horrible fate…one more fitting for you and I."

The skull on the cane began to glow red.

"Another useful ability Lucretia gave this comes from her knowledge of me. She knows I am a constant collector of interesting items, so she made this a…storage unit if you will. I can collect anything I want and it is held in perfect stasis until I deem its release for my personal study."

Dr. Mandragore placed the skull-head on the muscular chest of his enemy, whose thrashing stopped with the cold touch.

"I will have your help in saving your son Baron. Your madness prevents you from seeing it now, but in time you will."

Baron screamed.

The skull head flushed a deep crimson as it started drawing out what its master desired.

The energy-laden blood from the very heart of Baron Battle flowed into the staff.

Both men shook with the transfer; the intimacy of it was both wonderful and terrible.

When it ended, Baron went limp, his breathing coming in ragged gasps.

"D…damn you…" sobbed Baron.

Dr. Mandragore gently placed his hand on Baron's head then traced his finger down the jagged scar on the side of his face. He grasped Baron's chin, forcing his head up to look him in his eyes. At one time that would have been impossible, but the combination of the neutralizer and the blood loss rendered Baron weak…vulnerable.

It would take nothing to kill him.

"You curse me now, old friend,' he whispered gently, "but one day you will thank me. I go now to save Warren, but you will never see me again…until the day I can cure you as well."

With one last ounce of strength, Baron spit into his face.

He only smiled, not bothering to wipe it away as he sat back in his chair and turned the time warp off.

"I'm ready to go guards," he called to those listening outside, "our business is finished here."

"I strongly suggest you keep him sedated for the next few days," Dr. Mandragore said to the head of security as he was being escorted to the transport, "I'm afraid the news about his son has proven quite traumatic for him."

"Did you get what you needed to cure the boy?" Although the head of security was a super powered man who would have no problem holding his own with many of the super felons incarcerated in his care, he was also the father of three children and would move heaven and earth if one of them was ill. He didn't care what Dr. Mandragore might have done; all he saw was someone trying to save a child.

"I have all that I require," smiled Dr. Mandragore as he climbed aboard the transport, "it was actually quite easy once I explained things to him.

"You might say I touched his heart."

"M…Mommy…?"

Warren slowly came awake, his eyes unable to focus clearly at first. He knew he was in a dimly lit room, and could hear strange beeping and humming, but that was all.

"I'm here baby."

Warren was able to focus on the beautiful face of his mother. He saw the halo of snow- white hair and the deep green eyes he knew so well. He could smell her perfume. The sound of her voice was a comfort that chased all shadows away.

"Mommy, I had…I had a bad dream." Warren whispered.

"It's okay," Angelica said to her son as she stroked his hair she had just finished washing with a damp cloth, "it's all going to be better very soon. Go back to sleep now.'

"Okay…" Warren smiled, and was again in a deep slumber. This time it was the true sleep of peace that would bring rest and revitalization. The first he had had in nearly two months.

Once Warren was asleep Angelica stepped away from the bed and removed a silver ring from her finger. He white hair became as black as a raven's feathers, her features changed, but became a different form of beauty as her eyes became blue and her white dress became a dark blue gown.

Lucretia Mandragore longed to once again stroke Warren's hair…to hold his small form in her arms as she had been doing ever since her husband had given him the serum derived from the heart's blood of the boy's father.

The blood that contained the agent that stopped Warren's power from consuming him and would one day enable him to master it.

Dr. Mandragore stood against the far wall, not wanting to disturb his wife. It seemed that they both looked upon Warren as one of their own children even as the Commander and Jetstream did. Lucretia and Josie had taken turns using the magical doppelganger ring to assume Angelica's form in case Warren awakened crying for his mother as he had just done. Both women had taken turns washing his frail body, keeping him clean and nurturing him as best they could.

"Angelica will be here soon," Dr. Mandragore informed his wife, "she has made spectacular progress under your care."

"All I did was send her dreams," said Lucretia without taking her eyes off Warren, "I merely sent the dreams and visions of what was happening to Warren, to spur her on to fight to overcome what had happened. I knew that would provide her with all the strength and determination a mother would need. Nothing is stronger than that."

"I am afraid it is time for us to go," said Dr. Mandragore, taking his wife by the arm, "we should not be here when Angelica arrives. I have had enough awkward meetings with past acquaintances to last me a lifetime."

Lucretia turned to look at her husband, and saw him staring into the corner where he said he had seen the tall, foreboding shadow only a short time ago.

"He is gone Barnabas," she told her husband, "you have thwarted him just as you promised. I am proud of you."

He turned to regard his wife. "I am glad, my beloved. I would gladly have taken Warren's place, you know."

"I know," said Lucretia, "and I love you all the more for it. You must be careful though, someone may actually start referring to you as a hero."

They both laughed gently at that as they left the room.

It was the last time either of them would see Warren for years.

Once the room was again quiet, a strange shimmering light appeared and when it faded, someone else was in the room.

Marduke Mandragore, oldest son of the two who had just left, slowly approached the bed where Warren lay sleeping. Once there, he looked at the sleeping boy who was only a few months younger than him. He noticed the strange red streaks in Warren's hair and wondered how they had gotten there, but thought they looked nice.

He then gently placed the gift he had brought onto the bed within easy reach of Warren should he need it.

It looked like a simple stuffed teddy bear, but Marduke had made it from special flame resistant materials in the event Warren's powers should flare up again. He did not want his new friend to lose anything else because of a fire.

He stood there for a few minutes, knowing he would have to leave quickly before someone found him. He did not care about having to explain his presence; it was no one else's business. He didn't want Warren to be disturbed.

"Someday," whispered Marduke as he reached over and put his hand on Warren's shoulder, "we'll be best friends…just like our dads."

The walls of Mandragore castle rang with the sounds of joy.

Warren was alive and on his way to a complete recovery.

But it had come at a terrible price. The boy had evidently suffered minor brain damage from the initial trauma and the fever he had struggled through. He had forgotten everything from the point of his father's capture and trial until the moment he awakened in the hospital. Any memory of the Stronghold's trying to adopt him was gone.

It had again broken the hearts of the two heroes, but they agreed it be for the best that he not be told about it. His mother was recovered, and she had friends and family who would help her with her son.

Still, it had turned the taste bitter in the mouths of the villains. They had put everything on the line, and thought it was all for nothing. But Dr. Mandragore pointed out to them that it had not been for nothing. It had made each and every one of them take a look inside and realize that for all their crimes and petty spites, they had tried to save a little child who had supposed to mean nothing to them, and instead had become their own son.

Blowhard sat back in a big comfortable chair, swilling beer in one hand while he tried to focus on playing the set of bagpipes he had insisted on bringing with him. Tried though he might it still sounded like cats being skinned alive.

Black Ice used her powers to create a huge block of ice perfectly formed into the life size image of Warren. His face was an expression of joy as crystal flames danced about him, creating a prismatic effect on the lights.

Rockabilly had sung himself hoarse. He had shaken the rafters with every spiritual song of thanksgiving he knew, and was now content to sit and drink and laugh with the others at Blowhard's valiant attempts to make music.

Tyrannosaur, still abnormally quiet, was nonetheless far more jovial than before. He had been so happy at Warren's recovery, but dejected that he could not go see the boy.

Dr. Barnabas Mandragore sat in his great high-backed chair, looking at the enormous glass sphere before him. He looked at the gently bubbling green liquid within it. He looked at what the liquid was holding.

A snifter of brandy and a half-empty bottle sat on the small table next to his chair. It had been the first time he had indulged in any drinking since the ordeal began, and he felt he deserved it.

He looked at the sphere, at the liquid and its contents. It was the result of his alternate plan, one hatched in the event he had failed to get Baron's assistance willing or otherwise.

Both plans had borne fruit.

Now he was left with the dilemma he did not think he would have to deal with. Was he that desperate? Had he simply ignored it?

There was no ignoring it now. The deed was done and there would be no undoing it.

He would not destroy the liquid and its contents; such a thing would be a greater sin than what he had done to Baron.

No, destroying it was out of the question. But there was something that could be done.

There was always something.

"Barnabas?"

Lucretia entered the dark laboratory, surprised to find her husband there.

"What are you doing here? Our friends are upstairs all calling for you. What is so important that…"

She had come up beside the chair and put her hand on her husband's shoulder when she saw the sphere.

She saw the warm green liquid.

She saw what was floating in it.

"Dear God, Barnabas," she gasped as she clenched her husband's shoulder, "what have you done?"

In response he put his hand on his wife's. She looked down and saw him smiling back up at her. His eyes held a look that was neither mad nor drunk. They were perfectly sober…perfectly sane.

For one of the very few times in her life, Lucretia Mandragore was afraid.

The End


End file.
